Ahen
by KitaiCat
Summary: "You hurt me, Kitai, and now I will be returning the favor, da?" Russia visits a very impaired China during the Opium Wars, for more than just a chat or treaty. Historical references, lemon etc.


**AN: after soooo much time writing and editing this thing I'm finally done orz**

**China does not say aru in this fic because a) it's a Japanese verbal tic and not Chinese and b) I feel like his arus, though adorable, shouldn't be included in srs fics (some people can write that way and me actually like it, but I personally can't)**

**I did try to give Russia as much of an accent ("you are being very beautiful" vs "you are beautiful") as I could, though. "Da" is not a verbal tic and when people use it like aru I just ASDFGHJKL I can't . I also tried to keep both of them as in character as possible. However, there are no canon strips of high China to my knowledge, nor could I even find any fics to draw inspiration from, so I had to just imagine what it'd be like.**

**This is my baby, based off of what was going to be a joint doujin thing with me and my own Vanya that she cancelled on due to an... heh, an accident on my part involving ketchup. If you want to see the redone lineart of the cover by me, go to kurisuju . deviantart . com and look for it in my gallery : D**

**DISCLAIMER graphic lemon, drug usage, and abuse of both Russia and China. Based on historical events. Opium War NOT focusing on IggyChu. RoChu.**

**Read on, Review, all that jazz. Enjoy!**

China was a changed place when Russia came to see the embodiment of the once flourishing empire. Streets once lined with men selling colorful foods and trinkets and filled with raven haired people going this way and that in a manner of organized chaos were instead dulled and seemingly lifeless. Vendors, their numbers slashed into a mere fourth of what it once had been, leaned sleepily against the walls as only a few tired looking people drifted by. Ivan could only imagine where the other people were and what they were doing. It was well known that Britain was pumping opium into China, and despite poised letters from China asking Arthur's men to halt the imports, it seemed as if even more people were becoming addicted to the sweet poison.

Yao, he knew, was one of those people- if the ancient nation could even be _described _as a normal person. Even though he'd objected to the opium that was killing his children, China found himself addicted to it after Britain forced him to take it. The drug was quick to take hold of him. He also knew, much to his dismay, that the beautiful Chinese had sunk low to acquire the drug in the days after that fateful first time. China was beautiful, and Britain and many others were greedy and had possession of what he wanted and lust in their eyes. This all added up to a pathetic living for Yao, who had reduced himself to the status of a whore, prostituting himself for opium, which created conflicting emotions for Ivan. He pitied and was even angry with Yao, but he wanted to steal Yao away so that Britain and America and their men could never touch or even lay an eye on him again. Worst of all, as much as he hated himself for it, he wanted Yao more than even Britain did.

Russia knew exactly where to find "the jewel of the east" from the countless visits to China he'd made when he was a child. China's abode could almost be described as being smack in the middle of Peking, and as he approached it, memories of the scent of China's cooking and his light laughter hit him like a wave. Things that he'd tried so hard to lock away- the upward curve of Yao's mouth when he smiled, the scent of incense that seemed to follow Yao around wherever he went- could suddenly not be held back anymore. The large Russian man's heavy footsteps faltered as he saw the heavy lilac curtain in Yao's open, circular doorway being pushed away to reveal Britain himself, fixing his bowtie as he sauntered out of the small house. Their eyes met for a brief moment as they passed one another; Arthur's held no particular emotion, but Ivan's held a cold rage. Arthur nodded curtly at him, as if he thought that Ivan would be just another "customer" for Yao, and he was out of Ivan's sight.

Ivan was enraged. Although he knew Britain came to Yao more than any other, he still wanted to clutch the Asian beauty to himself and not allow another person to have him. The sight of Britain, leaving China's house so coolly and seeming not to care that someone else would come to claim Yao after he was gone made his vision blur in a violet haze. With his blood boiling in his veins, he had half the mind to find Arthur and beat him to a bloody pulp- Britain wasn't necessarily the kindest of nations, Ivan was sure he'd be doing the others a favor anyway- but found himself leaning against a building until he'd calmed himself.

After pushing the curtain back, the bitter scent of opium invaded Ivan's nostrils before he could even truly set foot through the doorway. The interior of the entrance hallway hadn't much changed over the years he'd been gone, but the paint on the walls was peeling and the walls themselves had cracks and holes in them, most looking to be about the size of an average man's fist. The handsome Russian couldn't imagine Yao's dainty hand doing such damage, though the man _did _do things people wouldn't expect of someone so small, so he placed the blame on Arthur's aggressive nature. Ivan continued through the house and found himself disgusted with the thick smoke drifting through the air in little tendrils. He coughed once, twice, then concluded that he might be able to get high without even taking a drag from Yao's pipe if he stood there long enough.

Ivan made his way through another open doorway and into Yao's room, which had been turned into a den of sorts. Red silk pillows lined with gold trim sat on the bed, covered in a plush blanket which was also a deep shade of red with dragons and clouds sewn onto it. from the ceiling long translucent curtains had been suspended, colored a goldish hue and shimmering like stars. On the bed, back facing the towering man in the doorway, was Yao. He sat on his knees and was hunched forward over a small box, from which he was taking pinches of what looked like an herb- Ivan shuddered, he knew what it was- and packing the substance into the bowl of a long, slender pipe.

Ivan watched as Yao took the pipe to his lips, then pulled a matchbox out of the pocket of his blue robe, only to be interrupted as Ivan cleared his throat. Yao didn't whirl around with an indignant cry as he would have if he were in his right mind. Instead, his shoulders slumped and he took a hesitant peek over his shoulder, through a thick curtain of black hair.

"You left your watch again, Arthur?"

The question was uttered in a quiet voice that had somehow managed to maintain some of the music it once had held. Ever so slowly, Yao stretched out his willowy arms, letting his head fall back as he closed his eyes. He turned sluggishly around to look at Ivan again, more closely this time- not that it mattered. Ivan's light hair and slightly bushy brows were enough to make Yao think he were Britain in his dazed state.

"I am not Arthur, Yao." Ivan's thickly accented words seemed to make Yao look even more defeated, as he let his head drop before throwing a leg over the side of the bed. He quickly regretted this, however, as was evidenced in his face as it screwed up in a look of pain. Ivan cocked his head to one side, his left, and watched Yao painstakingly get up onto shaky feet and straighten himself up. The Chinese tried his hardest to hide his limp while he closed the distance between himself and the "stranger" in his room, and prided himself in only stumbling once. On tiptoes, he slung his arms around Ivan's neck, then whispered into his ear.

"Oh? Then what are you here for? Do you have something for me?"

Ivan stared down at him, countenance lacking any real expression as he wondered if Yao didn't recognize him. A soft kiss was placed on his jaw as Yao's hands slid from his broad shoulders to his torso, where they ran up and down, fingering the medals and brass buttons and chains adorning Russia's crisp white uniform. Yao looked slightly confused, he noticed, as he eyed the decorations, but fumbled to unbutton the garment anyway.

"How much do you have?"

Yao's dilated pupils met Ivan's, the latter allowing the eye contact to continue as he pushed Yao back toward the bed; the Chinese man's wobbly knees met with the foot of it and he fell back onto it in a sitting position. His muscles clenched as the intimidating Russian stepped closer, his thick boots sounding with jarring thunks as the soles of them came into contact with the hard floor.

"I am not having anything, Yao."

The Asian's brow furrowed. His amber eyes were looking in Russia's direction, but not _at _him. They seemed to look far away, as if searching for something that was itching at his mind.

"Why are you here?" Yao finally managed. Ivan's expressionless mask finally cracked into a childish grin. His large hands undid the buttons of his coat with ease, and Yao's visage only showed anger at the action. "Im not just going to _sleep with you,_" he murmured. The blonde before him gave no indication that he'd even heard the words as he shrugged off his coat. Yao opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off as the Russian pointed at his own chest.

At first, China glared up at his face. Violet irises yielding no emotion, despite the smile on the handsome Russian face, urged him to look down at the scar on the hairy chest. An exasperated look briefly flashed across Yao's face, a look that only portrayed exhaustion that the man before him was wasting his time, before a new look wiped it from his lovely countenance.

Shock.

That thing that Yao had been searching for with his eyes, the memory that had been scratching at the surface of thought yet eluded him when he tried to remember, finally played in his mind crystal clear.

A small boy clinging to him in the snow, crying into his layers of fur and silk and coarse, rough fabric. Hiding from a common enemy. The boy that Yao held dear to his heart, whom he did not want to be tainted by the Golden Horde, was terrified, shaking, begging for protection or some sort of affection to prove to himself that he was indeed not alone in his struggles. Yao provided him with that protection, fed him, treated him like a brother, and all in all gave the lost child everything that he hadn't had, everything that he'd always yearned for. They grew to trust each other, only to have that fragile web torn apart when Yao, caught in a depressed spell spurred by his thousands of years of torment and the state of warfare that had plagued him at the time, had taken a dagger and planted it in the boy's chest.

Being a nation, the small boy could not die from such an injury. He could, however, suffer from the trauma it left on his mind, and the scar that it left on him was a constant reminder of his southern neighbor. China who was strong and beautiful and unstable, who had betrayed and hurt him worse than Mongolia ever could.

It never left him, Yao now realized, and his eyes widened in terror as Ivan's lips curled to reveal his teeth.

"_Now _do you know who I am, Jao?"

"Yi... Yiwan?" the voice that escaped Yao's lips was not the smooth one Ivan had heard earlier; rather, it was raspy, due to his throat going dry at what he'd just realized. Ivan's grin widened and he took two steps to close the distance between he and Yao. Leaning over the bed, he reached out to grab Yao's chin with two fingers.

"Da. Do you know why I am being here, _Kitai _?" the predatory look in Ivan's lilac eyes did not go unnoticed by the Chinese man before him. Yao's leg shot out at Ivan as he tried as desperately as he could in his impaired state to escape Ivan's hold on him. It was all for naught. Ivan caught the long leg with one hand and crawled onto the bed, releasing Yao's face only to grab his wrists. It was then that Yao realized what a situation he was in. The Russian hovering over him let out a childish giggle at the struggling prey he'd managed to capture.

"Le-let go of me!" China yelped, screwing his eyes closed to escape the image of Ivan grinning sadistically down at him.

"Jao~" Ivan sang. He drew close, so close that his cold lips grazed the frightened Chinese man's ear, and into it whispered in a husky voice,"You hurt me, Jao." a sob racked the body beneath him, a sob that was not accompanied by tears but a sob nonetheless. "And now I am going to be returning the favor, da? It is only fair."

The large hand at Yao's wrists met resistance and tightened when the small man jerked and struggled to escape. His panic slashed through the opium induced fog that had clouded his mind as adrenaline shot through his petite frame, his body telling him that he needed to run; that Ivan was a twisted man and that his own well being may have been in danger while he was underneath the Russian bear above him. He felt unclean and disgusted and utterly _terrified_- things he should have felt when Britain defiled him, Britain and the other Imperialists, but Russia, his hulking northern neighbor, was more of a frightening man, and one with a vengeance at that.

A hiss escaped clenched teeth as Russia's large nose grazed against China's soft, golden cheek, inhaling the scent of the Asian beneath him. He reeked of the bitter scent of opium, but beneath that there were still traces of Yao, hints of good cooking and herbs and all of the good things in life that Ivan had loved and associated with him in the past. He brushed long, ebony strands of hair away to admire Yao's face, still beautiful despite bloodshot eyes and cheeks that had grown thinner from lack of proper nourishment. China seemed not to like the tender motion. His voice came, finally stronger but still coarse and not as impressive as it once had been, as he damned Ivan and all of those he held close in his native tongue.

The angry insults and curses were halted as Ivan leaned down again, his cool breath tickling the full lips of the man beneath him. He didn't smile, despite wanting to.

"I am going to _break_ _you_, little Yao." The shudder that went down the smaller man's spine sent a thrill up Ivan's. His tongue flicked out, tasting the bittersweet flavor of those full lips. The leg Ivan had caught when his little prisoner lashed out before trembled in fear. Yao's pinkish eyelids concealed his terrified, golden, bloodshot eyes from Ivan's, at which the latter laughed. "Open your eyes, Yao. I want to see them." hesitantly, slowly, the Asian obeyed. Ivan was surprised to see tears in those beautiful eyes, though Yao was too stubborn to allow them to slip down his cheeks. He bit his lower lip to restrain himself from showing his weakness, from allowing Ivan to see him cry.

"I _hate_ you."

Yao could hardly finish the sentence before the hands on his body tightened their grip- his wrists felt about to snap and he _knew _that his thigh would have marks on it in the morning. He refused to cry out. He would be stubborn; to cry, to cry out, would be to lose this game. If he did either, the battle would be won, Ivan would be the victor, and his willpower would be crushed.

"You sleep with the others, do you not?" silence. "Why is it so wrong for you to be giving yourself to me?"

Honey eyes darted away, would not meet the expectant amethyst eyes that demanded his attention.

"Are you scared?" Ivan chuckled, for the second time in Yao's presence. "If I were you I would be scared too. You are going to be paying me back for the scar you left on me." His voice was light and childish, as if he were discussing the weather; but with his next sentence it dropped an octave. "You'll not be able to walk for a week when I am done with you, da? I am going to make you _beg_, Yao. Like the slut you've become."

The words cut through Yao deeper than any knife, worked into his psyche and settled there. _Like_ _the_ _slut_ _you_'_ve_ _become_. Coming from Ivan it was too much to bear. A tear leaked out and he squeezed his eyes shut again. Ivan didn't tell him to open them again- instead, his lips latched to Yao's throat while his knee grinded between his thighs and his hand rubbed small circles on the pale skin there. Yao's head fell back- in defeat or lust, Ivan did not know, did not care- and the Russian above him assaulted his now exposed neck with more than just a gentle kiss or suckle. White teeth left small red marks on the already marred skin and drew whimpers from the small Chinese man. In a sudden movement, the hand at Yao's thigh jerked, spreading the limb farther apart from its twin as Ivan settled more between them and unbuttoned his white pants.

"I don't want this," Yao stuttered, moaning as Ivan ground against his bare hips.

"I do not care. I will make you want me, _lyubov_ _moya_. I will make you scream, I will make you have nightmares of me." Ivan tore off his own pants and undergarments in one go with that one hand, then released the slender wrists he'd been gripping so tightly. "When Arthur fucks you, you will think of me. _Only_ _me_." He hissed as Yao's now freed hands gripped at his silvery hair and yanked, to which he responded by putting a hand around the other man's slim throat and applying pressure. Not enough to cut off his air supply, but enough to get his message across.

_Did I not say I would break you?_

They engaged in a staring contest. Ivan's violet orbs consumed by lust and cool rage, Yao's by fear, defiance, and tears threatening to spill over more. Yao was the first to cave. His eyes fluttered shut and he bit back a scream as Ivan bit his shoulder hard- somewhere in the time they'd held their little contest, he'd untied the knot that held his robe in place and shoved the silk down .

"When Alfred does this, you will think of me." The Russian demanded it. They both knew that Yao would follow that order, that that day would burn itself into his mind. Every touch, every kiss, every thrust of Ivan's hips, would be what Yao imagined while he tried to think of other things as Francis and Arthur and Alfred took him. Ivan would make sure of it. "You will be consumed by me." His voice was right in Yao's ear- Yao jumped at the cool breath against the sensitive shell of it.

"Never," was his whispered response. The Russian's grin widened, laugh tinkling like bells even though his eyes seemed to get darker with emotion. The flimsy robe that he had pushed down earlier was the only garment that protected Yao from those violet eyes; he whimpered when the head of Ivan's large member was pressed against his entrance and those eyes left his face to devour his lithe body. Words were not needed as their power struggle continued, with Yao yanking Ivan's face away as best as he could while Ivan leaned down for a kiss; his feet pried at the gargantuan man's legs between his and his mouth threatened to betray him when Ivan's hands toyed with the pink buds on his chest.

"_Quit_ _it_. I'll give you money- I'll sign a treaty, whatever you want-" The Chinese gave an angry cry when Ivan grabbed his hands over his head again, then whipped the useless tie that used to hold the smaller man's robe up out from its loopholes to tie those hands together at the wrists.

"I do not want money, Jao. I want you," Ivan said levelly. His calloused hands cupped Yao's face and he leaned in- he was delighted when Yao didn't jerk away- and took his lips with his own. The kiss was almost innocent. But Yao steeled himself for what came next, when Ivan bit his lower lip gently in an attempt to deepen it. Yao would not give in this time. He never allowed his "clients" to kiss him, and Ivan would be no exception, especially with the deed he was about to commit. The Russian was lucky Yao didn't jerk away for the more chaste kiss.

Ivan cocked his blonde head, pulling away to look at Yao's face. His golden eyes were averted, and he'd pursed his lips to keep Ivan from capturing the cavern beyond them. The larger man's hands slid up the undersides of Yao's long thighs to spread them apart once more. By now Yao had screwed his eyes shut again. He did not want this. No, he wanted to rest, to be left alone, and if he had to deal with the issue of his past with Ivan he'd rather apologize than allow him to just _rape_ him as punishment for what he'd done. He exhaled deeply from his nostrils. when Ivan's hips gave a jerk and forced the thick head of his erection past the ring of muscle at his entrance, the both of them gasped. For a moment Ivan was still, and Yao cursed him for it. The stillness did not last forever, though, and a small cry escaped Yao when Ivan forced the rest of his formidable length into him.

It hurt worse than it had hurt with the others. Ivan was much larger than the other men Yao had been with, and Yao's small body was stiff, every muscle clenched at the feeling of the large intrusion inside him. The Russian pulled almost all the way out only to roughly thrust back inside him, the bed beneath them giving a groan of protest along with Yao.

"I-Ivan," he hissed.

"Jao, I suggest you be shutting your mouth soon before I am having to be shutting it for you," was Ivan's response. Yao shuddered at the voice that sounded as if it were singing a song even though its pitch had dropped and the voice itself had become so much more coarse. The fact that the menacing words with their beautiful voice were murmured into his ear didn't help Yao feel any more inclined to shut his mouth. Rather, he whimpered. Ivan began rocking into him at a moderate pace; not enough to make him scream, but still too much for being so harshly invaded. With his wrists tied above his head, Yao could do nothing but lay and accept what was happening. Each cry he elicited from Yao brought Ivan guilt and bliss, and the two danced a whirlwind in his head, bringing an onslaught of emotion of the same magnitude. Yao still looked like a god underneath him, despite the pained look on his face as Ivan drove his lust deep inside him. Dark feelings, blacker than the night or Yao's hair, were reflected on Ivan's face. He wanted more.

"Jao," the Russian purred into Yao's flushed ear. His hand moved to grip tightly at the smaller man's hip, holding him down and allowing him to be penetrated deeper, yet the breathless protests coming between heavy gasps for air from Yao still were not enough. "Louder," he murmured; "say my name," he growled between taking advantage of Yao's parted lips to plunge his tongue inside for searing kisses. Yao did not fight now; the adrenaline was subsiding to allow for the drug to take over and win yet again. His original refusal tumbled away with every kiss and touch that brought a feeling of ecstasy rather than disgust. He knew that just like Ivan, he was losing his mind, though Ivan brought the slow trickle that was the pace of that loss to the speed of a raging river with every "_lyublyu_ _tebya_, _Jao_," and every claim of ownership of the fallen nation.

China was very much in pain, but Ivan drove into him in ways that made that pain nothing but a dull ache in the back of his mind as immeasurable pleasure washed over him. Protests turned into whispered encouragement in a foreign tongue, encouragement that Ivan took without even understanding exactly what Yao had hissed along with his own name. Feather light touches graced Yao's smooth chest and his chest pressed against the hands, begging without words for more. Ivan finally managed to find Yao's sweet spot; he was awarded with a loud shout of his name in a voice that was _so_ beautiful. The ethereal form beneath him writhed, Yao's face portrayed magnificently the ecstasy that Ivan was making him feel as he rammed into that spot, harder and harder. From full lips, now slightly swollen from harsh kisses, cascaded words that were more than music to Ivan's ears. Sweet nothings, cries of his name, words in Mandarin that Ivan drank in then smothered with his own mouth, pausing and allowing Yao to breathe only to utter words of his own that sent him reeling.

"_Moya_."

The silk tie around Yao's slender wrists was torn away and thrown to some corner of the room and forgotten. Yao's arms latched around Ivan's torso, his fingers lost themselves in his disheveled and silvery hair. The Chinese man was becoming even more vocal as Ivan's nails dragged down his back and then back up to grip at the scarred plane tightly.

"_Krasivyi_."

Ivan was breathless now. Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, Yao moving to meet every thrust of Ivan's hips, crying his name into the high heavens, and Ivan gladly doing the same.

"_Yiwan_!"

It was an exhilarating cry, tumbling out when Ivan stroked the smaller man's neglected length.

"_Biê_ _tíng_!"

The bed creaked loudly under the force of their lovemaking. The sounds of the old springs being strained, the headboard rhythmically hitting the wall, and the loud noises of pleasure coming from the two nations on aforementioned bed drifted about the house like the smoke that Ivan had choked on. Ivan's hand, tugging at Yao's erection, increased its pace with the erratic one his own hips were setting. Coherent words could no longer be formed. The heat in Yao's stomach pooled, his muscles clenched around Ivan inside him and he gripped his flaxen hair even tighter as he threw his head back with a loud shout. He came into Ivan's waiting hand, onto both of their stomachs, and his body fell limp against the mattress. Ivan groaned- he was so close- just one more kiss, one more jerk of his hips into Yao, and Ivan climaxed inside of him as well before collapsing on top of the Chinese.

They lay like that for minutes that seemed like hours, and Ivan slowly pulled his softening member out of Yao. His head was resting under Yao's chin, on his sweat covered chest, and he listened to the man's fluttering heartbeat until it slowed along with Yao's breathing. When he pulled away, he saw that Yao's lids had fluttered shut. He slept peacefully, any looks of torment wiped from his angelic face.

Ivan envied him.

With a kiss on the forehead and a sigh, Ivan slowly raised himself, digging through his pockets. He retrieved the dagger and unsheathed it, amethyst eyes drinking in the sight of Yao, worn and sleeping, his robe still covering only his arms and his hair framing his face like a silky curtain of pure night sky, one more time.

"_Krasivyi_," he murmured once more.

It was so smooth under his fingers. Oh how he didn't just want to slice it- but it needed to be done. He drew the dagger close to it and jerked it toward himself.

The deed was done.

"Sleep, now," Ivan sang, as he held the silken locks to his lips. "Little Yao."

**AN; OMG IM DONE.**

***dies***

**to those of you who may not be able to tell, he cut Yao's hair to the length it is in canon in the end. I guess I wanted to be ambiguous.**

**DUN DUN DUN. im proud of my first ~**_**independent**_**~ lemon.**

**I hope you enjoyed, R&R please!**

**Or Ivan will cut it all off!**

**Oh! 8D**

**Translations- taken from google translate, if I'm wrong, kindly correct me.**

**RUSSIAN**

**Kitai- China**

**Lyublyu Tebya- I love you.**

**Moya- Mine.**

**Krasivyi- beautiful.**

**CHINESE**

**Bi**ê** tíng!- Don't stop! ((Thanks to FairyofCritics for helping me out with that orz))**

**oh lawd :'D**

**Jao is Yao with heavy russian accent, da?**

**and Yiwan is Ivan with heavy Chinese accent.**


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